


Push and Collide

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 06:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: Uryuu is powerless and desperate, Ichigo fights tooth and nail with his Hollow, and Urahara interferes.
Relationships: Hollow Ichigo | Zangetsu/Ishida Uryuu, Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 2





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a delightfully devious prompt by Fireball-Fuchsia. Set between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo arcs. This is also 90% lemon, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.
> 
> Warnings: mild violence, language, rough m/m sex, brief dubcon, slight psychological torment

**0**  
  
Whether it is the needs of the many or the few, science and magic are so often intertwined. Whether it is for pleasure or pain, the answers are almost always the same. You can't have one without the other, after all.  
  
Urahara Kisuke has understood this for a very long time. When most condemn his methods and call him mad, it never bothers him. He knows his style is unusual but there is no one who rivals him in this matter. Not even the sadist who took his place in Soul Society, nor the wayward youth in Hueco Mundo, both so full of pride and ambition.  
  
Kisuke does not discover and create for the sake of such trivial notions. No, he bends his mind to the questions which have the most profound impacts. Things that may seem frivolous at first but prove more useful than the most serious projects of others. That is why Kisuke focuses all of his concentration into emitting the perfect amount of kidou, whispering just the right words, and measuring a precise amount of chemicals into a small glass vial.  
  
Placing the stopper, he exhales and relaxes at last. Four hours of hard work put into this precious formula's conception give him a deep sense of accomplishment. The only problem is how he will decide who to test it on. But he would be lying if he said he hadn't begun this task with a subject in mind.  
  
  
**I**  
  
"What the fuck are you doing here, Ishida?"  
  
"I don't see how that's any business of yours, Kurosaki."  
  
"Why are you out here when I'm already on patrol?"  
  
"I'm not on patrol; I'm taking a late-night stroll."  
  
Standing under the street lamp holding a shopping bag like he just came out of a sewing store after midnight, Ishida pokes his glasses back into place and gives him a blank stare. Ichigo scowls as he slings his zanpakuto across his back, quickly sheathed in its wide bandages. He takes three long steps towards Ishida and fights the vicious urge to grab him by the shirt and shake him.  
  
"Inoue told me."  
  
"Told you what, exactly?"  
  
"She told me about your powers," he snaps, annoyed at this game Ishida insists on playing. "That you fought Kurotsuchi and had to do some weird Quincy thing that made you lose them."  
  
"'Some weird Quincy thing'...?"  
  
"I know you can't fight anymore and that sucks. I'm sorry. But you can't patrol anymore. If you can't fight then you're—"  
  
"What? I'm a liability, helpless? Is that what you want to say?" Scoffing and turning away, Ishida expresses clear disdain and the beginnings of anger. "Inoue-san told you? You know nothing about it."  
  
"What don't I know? Was she wrong?"  
  
"Like I said, it's none of your business."  
  
Pivoting on a heel, Ishida starts off in the opposite direction. One that Ichigo knows is not the way back to his apartment. He growls and lunges forward to grab his arm before he can stride away. Ishida slaps his hand away and frowns with sharply slanted eyebrows.  
  
"Do you really think I can't handle a couple of stray Hollows on my own? Or are you addicted to endangering yourself?"  
  
"How are you going to handle anything, Kurosaki?"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" he cautiously fires back. Sensing his uncertainty, Ishida smirks.  
  
"As usual you're the last to notice anything. We all know about your latest 'problem'. We were all there for your fight with Kuchiki-taichou." Ichigo's eyes widen at that. Ishida nods twice before continuing. "Although we couldn't see anything we felt how your reiatsu changed. How it got rougher, darker, heavier. We heard rumors from some of the Gotei 13 of how you were about to lose and you suddenly changed, getting the upper hand in an instant. But then you almost lost control. Did you think you could hide it from everyone?"  
  
"That has nothing to do with killing low-level Hollows!"  
  
"Doesn't it?" Ishida steps closer, leaning in and narrowing his eyes. "When was the last time you did anything more than drawing your sword? When was the last time you actually used your power?"  
  
"I just haven't needed to yet," he grumbles. "I can still fight, unlike you."  
  
"Can you? Have you tried? Because it seems to me that every time you do, something goes wrong. Like an engine sputtering into life only to die before you can get anywhere."  
  
"Shut the hell up, Ishida," he barks, not appreciating the comparison. "My powers work fine. That's why you should stay home and leave protecting Karakura to me."  
  
"Even when you weren't fighting a losing battle with your own reiatsu, I still didn't trust you to keep everyone safe. Why should I start now?"  
  
"Because you _are_ helpless! If I attacked you right now, what could you do to defend yourself?"  
  
"Being a Quincy is more than firing arrows," Ishida snarls, verging on furious. "I may have lost the ability to summon my spirit weapon but I will _never_ be helpless!"  
  
"Prove it." When Ishida merely continues to glare, Ichigo draws Zangetsu and swings it fast, halting a hairsbreadth from his high-collared throat. "If I was a Hollow, you'd be dead."  
  
"If you were a Hollow, I would have killed you before you even sensed me."  
  
Hastily replacing his zanpakuto, Ichigo finally gives in and squeezes a fist into his pressed white shirt. Ishida sneers and mirrors the action in the folds of his shihakushou.  
  
"Stop being so damn stubborn and stay home, damn it!"  
  
"Don't order me around, Kurosaki!"  
  
"Then don't act like an idiot!"  
  
"Let go of me," he snaps as he shoves Ichigo back, breaking their contact. "What makes you think you get to tell me how to live my life? If I want to risk it for this town, that's my right. It's not your decision!"  
  
"Ishida wait," he calls, watching the boy walk away. "Fucking wait a minute, will you?"  
  
His entreaties go ignored. Ichigo clenches his teeth and his fists against the welling irritation. He's never had a more frustrating friend. Never known anyone more stubborn and proud than Ishida Uryuu. And the idea that it's going to get him killed some day makes Ichigo want to smack some sense into him. Even though he knows it's pointless.  
  
  
**II**  
  
Residual adrenaline quivers in Uryuu's fingers and quickens his breath. Leave it to Kurosaki to ruin a perfectly good evening jaunt. Making assumptions and starting petty arguments on a whim. There is a good reason he told the immature Shinigami that they are still enemies after Urahara dropped them off last week on the return from Soul Society. There's a reason he avoids Kurosaki at school.  
  
"Good evening, Ishida-san," trills a familiar voice from nearby. Urahara steps out from the shade of a tall building and flaps his fan at Uryuu, who knows better than to be surprised by his sudden appearance. "Couldn't sleep?"  
  
"I have a lot on my mind."  
  
"I can imagine."  
  
"Can you?"  
  
Lowering the fan to give him a serious look, Urahara pauses. "No, I suppose I can't. Anything I can help with?"  
  
"Not unless you know something about the Quincy that I don't."  
  
"You might be surprised." Not bothering to hide his surprise, Uryuu waits for the revelation. "I have something I think might help."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Urahara produces a blue teardrop-shaped bottle, old and cut from what appears to be high-quality crystal. Inside swirls a clear liquid glinting in the dim halogen lamplight. He holds it up for Uryuu to see clearly.  
  
"A lovely new product of mine, fresh off the workbench." Uryuu takes the offered vial and gazes into its depths before eyeing Urahara curiously. "Simply drink the contents before bed and wait about twelve hours. Free of charge, as thanks for your assistance in the recent Soul Society debacle."  
  
"This is...?"  
  
"Something to help regain what was lost. No, I imagine it will give you much more than anything you had before."  
  
"I—how can I thank you, Urahara-san?" he asks, moved by this generosity.  
  
Uryuu isn't one to accept favors of anyone, much less a mysterious Shinigami he knows almost nothing about, but he would do nearly anything to have his powers back. He would drink any serum, take any pill, or perform any ritual. Although his pragmatism has him doubting this miracle, it's worth a try.  
  
"No need, no need!"  
  
"Are there any side-effects?"  
  
"None that you should notice. I took great care to keep the solution very pure."  
  
He glances from the bottle to Urahara and back a couple of times. Then he offers a small smile that Urahara returns. Uryuu thanks him once more before they part ways.  
  
Heading straight home, he changes into his pajamas and sets out his uniform for the morning. Brushes his teeth and pulls back the covers on his bed. Perches on the edge and pulls the stopper from the bottle. Uryuu takes a deep breath and pours the contents into his mouth, swallowing in one gulp.  
  
It burns like sake all the way down.  
  
  
**III**  
  
The sight of Ishida sitting so primly at his desk pisses him off. As if he wasn't just gallivanting around the city last night looking for ways to get himself injured or worse. He keeps ignoring Ichigo now, as he has since they returned, pretending to be too wrapped up in his own life to bother showing interest in anyone else's.  
  
Ichigo knows how easy it is to get swept up in your own troubles. He has spent almost every waking moment of this entire week brooding about the Hollow inside himself. It's been so distracting that he didn't even notice Ishida had lost his powers until Inoue pointed it out to him. Not that he can do anything about it. Not that Ishida would let him if he could.  
  
The whole thing just rubs him the wrong way. None of it is Ichigo's fault, so why should he feel guilty? He didn't ask Ishida to go with them to rescue Rukia. He didn't tell Ishida to try and kill a captain on his own to avenge his grandfather. And he sure as hell didn't tell him to forfeit his abilities to do any of it.  
  
Yet, if Ishida is going to make stupid choices like wielding a gun with no bullets and trying to bluff any Hollows he comes across into backing down or offing themselves, Ichigo is not going to stand by and let him do it. Obviously, he's suffering some kind of psychotic episode if he thinks that's a good idea. If Ishida needs someone to make him realize how reckless he is being, Ichigo will be friend enough to step up and tell him.  
  
"Ishida."  
  
"Go away, Kurosaki."  
  
"I want to talk to you."  
  
"Can't you see I'm busy?" Mired in heaps of files for some club activity, he gestures at the stacks of documents he's sorting. "I will always be too busy to talk to you. So, go away."  
  
"Come up to the roof with me."  
  
"Have you forgotten the meaning of the words 'go away'?"  
  
Simmering at this childish exchange, Ichigo braces a hand on the desk and leans down to murmur into Uryuu's ear, "Follow me to the roof right now or I'll make a scene and pretend we're having a lover's spat."  
  
The chair screeches as Ishida immediately stands from his desk, but not without a sharp glare at Ichigo. He notes with some amusement that his threat seems to embarrass Ishida enough to bring a light flush to his face. Hell, Ichigo is kind of embarrassed and he wasn't even serious about it.  
  
Their classmates look on in mild curiosity as they quickly sweep from the room and down the hall to the stairwell. Shoving the door open to the school roof, Ichigo scowls at two underclassmen smoking near the corner until they scram, leaving the two of them alone. Ishida crosses his arms and leans against the fence, looking over his shoulder at the lawn.  
  
"If this is about last night—"  
  
"Damn right it's about last night. Don't think you can run off every time we disagree with each other."  
  
"If I did, I would never stop running."  
  
"Maybe we could stop fighting if you would stop treating me like a foe."  
  
"Not going to happen."  
  
Feeling the usual anger rising up, Ichigo purposely takes a calming breath and a mental step back. He's never going to get anywhere if he keeps letting Ishida bait him like this. It would be a lot easier to keep his cool if the boy would look at him properly. Ichigo steps closer to get his attention. But Ishida swivels around to stare as if he broke some important rule of conduct by invading his space.  
  
"Listen, Ishida, I just don't want you to get hurt. There's no reason you should have to brave the battlefield with no weapons when there are other comrades watching your back."  
  
"Comrades? I have no comrades. Shinigami killed them all!"  
  
"I didn't kill your kin!" he yells back, instantly losing what tranquility he had mustered. "Why blame me for something I had no part in?"  
  
"Because you're a Shinigami," Ishida coldly states as if that explains absolutely everything, "And I hate Shinigami."  
  
Ichigo slams a hand to the metal fence post beside Ishida's shoulder. His eyes flare, arms dropping to his sides as he straightens into a wary stance. Even after everything they've been through Ishida doesn't trust him; that much is clear.  
  
"I told you that day we fought the Menos: there is no point in holding that tightly to the past. Isn't it better to bridge the gap between Shinigami and Quincy now to overcome previous mistakes?"  
  
"What do you know?" he hisses, pushing into Ichigo's space this time. "They're your allies now that you've helped bail them out of their own mess. But what am I to them?"  
  
"Give them a chance, they might—"  
  
"Find a use for the former 'Last Quincy'? Be realistic, idiot! How long before they turn on you when they figure out you're as good as a lame horse now?"  
  
"Stop talking about me like that, you bastard," Ichigo shouts as he shoves hard at his shoulders, rattling the sturdy links behind him. "I'm not a fucking 'lame horse' or a faulty engine!"  
  
Ishida's face changes from one second to the next. As soon as Ichigo pushes him his eyes go from harshly unforgiving to softly unsure. He looks down and takes a shaky breath. That fine blush from Ichigo's earlier minor threat comes back brighter than before. The shift is so startling that Ichigo almost apologizes.  
  
"Don't touch me." It comes out too quiet to be a command.  
  
"Fine. Then don't insult me."  
  
"Fine. How about I praise you instead?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You want to hear the truth, Kurosaki?" he says like the words hurt coming out. Ishida's breath comes heavier as he inches nearer, no longer shy about making eye contact. "Maybe I don't hate you. Maybe I admire you."  
  
"Don't patronize me, Ishida."  
  
"I've always envied your strength, your resolve. The ease with which you face any new challenge." Ishida is so close that his words warm where they puff against Ichigo's skin. Ishida's slanted eyes are too large, taking up too much of his visual field. "I've often wondered if you ever have doubts or if you instinctively know the correct route every time."  
  
"Of course I have doubts. I never know if I'm going in the right direction."  
  
"I'm sure it helps to be blessed with ridiculous spiritual power."  
  
"I guess..."  
  
Ichigo is more focused now on what Ishida is doing than what he is saying. The longer he talks, the hungrier he looks and Ichigo can't figure out why. Then Ishida lifts a hand to place lightly over Ichigo's heart, fingers splayed over the plane of his chest.  
  
"Not to mention the people you love; they care so much about you, too. Don't they?"  
  
"What are you doing?" he asks, watching Ishida's hand steadily drift downwards.  
  
"And physical strength, as well. What you had to do to get these kinds of muscles..." Ishida trails off as he traces over the rigid bumps of Ichigo's abdomen. "Although I don't covet them so much as appreciate them on you."  
  
"What the fuck, Ishida?"  
  
Finally breaking contact, Ichigo takes two steps back and peers at the boy as if he just sprouted wings. Ishida doesn't let him get far before moving back in. One hand slithers behind his neck while the other curls over his hip and holds.  
  
"You wanted truth, Kurosaki? Truth is I think you're very attractive."  
  
"In an objective sense," he firmly adds as he pushes Ishida's hands away. "Objectively attractive."  
  
"Subjectively."  
  
"Are you just getting back at me for what I said in class? I wasn't really going to pretend to be your lover!"  
  
"What if I don't want to pretend?"  
  
With that Ishida darts in, Quincy-quick, and kisses Ichigo on the mouth. Lasting just long enough to register a handful of new sensations, the unexpected attack fills his head with roiling confusion. He splutters and stumbles backwards. Ishida tries to follow but Ichigo is too stunned to argue or ask any more questions; he takes one last look at that unsettlingly intense expression before turning tail to flee.  
  
  
**IV**  
  
'The incident', as Uryuu has taken to calling what happened with Kurosaki on the roof earlier today, is still on his mind hours after he arrives home. He is still appalled at himself for the things he said and did without knowing why he was doing them. It was never his intention to kiss Kurosaki Ichigo!  
  
So why does that notion keep urging him to go and find the boy? Kurosaki is stuck on his mind and Uryuu is about to lose it because of him.  
  
Uryuu hasn't been able to work on any of his club projects, house chores, or schoolwork since then. Every time he tries to focus on anything else he winds up halfway to the door reaching for his jacket and keys. Subconsciously seeking some kind of closure or confrontation. But Uryuu doesn't think he can face Kurosaki again so soon...or ever. Not after what he did.  
  
What's worse is that Urahara's potion has done absolutely nothing to revive his powers. Uryuu has tried summoning his spirit bow three dozen times with zero results. When he concentrates on sensing his own reiatsu, it remains nonexistent. It has been nearly twenty-four hours since he drank the foul substance.  
  
Urahara must have lied to him. Not only is his invention ineffective, but the side effects may be manifesting in this foolish behavior towards Kurosaki. There's no other way to explain why he would suddenly make romantic advances towards him. The only solution must be to request an antidote of some kind from Urahara immediately.  
  
Leaving with the intention of doing just that, Uryuu gets swept up in thoughts of Kurosaki as he walks the quiet streets. Halfway to Urahara Shouten, he ends up taking a detour. His feet refuse to heed him as they march resolutely in the wrong direction. Kurosaki Clinic comes into view around a narrow corner and Uryuu would sigh in annoyance if he wasn't suddenly breathless.  
  
He walks boldly onto the lawn and gasps at the feeling of Kurosaki's burning miasma of a spirit emanating through his carelessly open window. A very small corner of Uryuu's mind gladly notes that his is the only soul in the building, but the majority of his attention is on sneaking inside.  
  
Kurosaki's sleeping form is sprawled across the mattress half-covered in a light blanket. Shirtless, the thick muscles and fading scars of his chest and arms are on full display. Uryuu feels inhibitions gently sliding from him like languid eels as he watches Kurosaki's soft breathing.  
  
He knows he should leave now, while he still might have a chance to muster the willpower. Turn tail and demand Urahara fix this before things get out of hand. Alternatively, Uryuu could observe a little while longer. Slake some of this burgeoning thirst for his pretend-enemy. Maybe if he is very quiet he can even move closer. Maybe if he is very careful he can lightly touch.  
  
Maybe if he is very quick he can tie Kurosaki to his bed frame before he wakes up and kicks Uryuu out.  
  
Before he thinks twice about what he is doing, Uryuu is snatching up long socks, wrinkled neckties, and whatever else is lying around. Knots them tightly to ankles and wrists as swiftly as he can. Pulls the blanket away from Kurosaki and drops it to the floor. Slides the wide window closed in case this gets noisy. Lastly, Uryuu sheds his shoes and crawls along the bed to kneel over slim hips.  
  
Uryuu bites his lip on a low groan as he smoothes his palms over warm skin.  
  
  
**V**  
  
Ichigo blinks open his eyes to see hooded blue ones peering right back at him in the darkness. _Ishida_. Ishida is leaning over him, lightly rubbing at his chest and making the weirdest expression. His first instinct is to fling the boy away and start shouting. Ichigo doesn't get to do either because he realizes he is tied to his own bed and his questions are momentarily lost in the confusion.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Kurosaki," he dips down to murmur near Ichigo's neck before kissing it. "You're dreaming."  
  
"Like hell I'm dreaming! Ishida, what the f—?"  
  
Ishida attacks his mouth. It really can't be called a kiss when there is this much biting and licking, can it? Ichigo tries to turn away from it but Ishida holds him steady with firm hands. He thinks to bite back after a few seconds, but it only seems to encourage his attacker. Moaning as Ichigo attempts to buck him off, Ishida finally pulls back to pant. Ichigo's complaints are once again stolen by the sight of him.  
  
If the situation was unclear before, it becomes crystalline now. There is no mistaking the lust in Ishida's gaze as he looks Ichigo over like a juicy piece of meat. Or whatever Ishida eats when he's really, really hungry. As if sensing that thought, Ishida licks his lips and shifts forward to grind against his hips through jeans and thin pajama pants.  
  
"This is your fault, Shinigami."  
  
"How could this possibly be my fault!?" he cries, frantically yanking his limbs in a bid for freedom. "Are you drunk? Untie me!"  
  
"Promise you won't kick me out?"  
  
"Fuck no!"  
  
"Then I'm afraid I can't comply."  
  
"Is this a joke? Are you messing with me again? As if what you did at school wasn't enough...You've gone too far, Ishida!"  
  
"Oh, but I still want to go so much further," Ishida purrs, fingers leisurely pulling at his pants' drawstring. "Now that I have you like this, it would be a shame to waste it."  
  
"Stop that!" Panicking a little now, Ichigo strains harder than ever as Ishida sashays lower to align his head with the body part he is about to uncover. The binds don't budge and he does the only thing he can think to delay him. "Please! Please don't do that."  
  
"'Please'? Strange, I don't think I've ever heard you speak that word before, Kurosaki. I was convinced you didn't understand its meaning." Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and snark something back, Ichigo heaves a relieved sigh as Ishida drops the strings and scoots back up his body to smirk at him. "The almighty Kurosaki asking politely...who'd have thought?"  
  
"Please untie me."  
  
"No."  
  
"God dammit, Ishida, just fucking knock this off already!" he yells, patience depleted. "It's not funny."  
  
"There's the Kurosaki we all know. Impulsive, loud, and self-righteous." As he speaks, Ishida continues to roll his hips against Ichigo distractingly. Those slim fingertips trace the lines of his bare chest and beyond. His hot mouth finds sensitive spots to lick, nibble, and suck between sentences. "When was the last time you couldn't have what you demanded? Your new limitations must be incredibly frustrating."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," he grits out despite a shocking wave of something he refuses to call pleasure.  
  
"It's roiling inside you right now, eager to join the fun. Can't you feel it?"  
  
Now that Ishida mentions it, Ichigo does feel it. The opening Ishida is creating in his defenses by confusing and stressing him is letting something else slip through. Gaps widening in the wall he built trying to keep the other out. And violent black energy is quickly solidifying on the wrong side.  
  
"Ishida, get out of here!"  
  
"We've established that your orders will not be followed, Kurosaki. Pay attention."  
  
"I'm serious," he snaps, gasping when Ishida sucks hard at a nipple. "He's dangerous!"  
  
"Are you going to lose control again? Give up so easily and let that wild thing within do whatever it wants? I never thought you were so weak."  
  
Those words flip a switch in his mind. Somewhere between fury and despair, Ichigo's hold is shaken. The last thing he sees is Ishida's wicked amusement twisting into incredulous fear.  
  
  
**VI**  
  
The widened brown eyes below him abruptly spark yellow and flood with oil. A shudder runs through Kurosaki, and then he isn't Kurosaki anymore. The thing in his body leers at Uryuu and easily snaps the necktie binding his right hand in half. It catches him when he tries to retreat.  
  
"Lil' Quincy," it coolly greets, "Come to play?"  
  
"Not with you."  
  
Uryuu fights the hold but it is soon joined by a second freed arm. The creature grins cruelly and flings him at the wall so hard it knocks his glasses off and leaves him dazed for several precious seconds. Pushing himself off the mattress and rubbing his bruised head, Uryuu looks up in time to see it deftly untying the fabric restraining its legs.  
  
"But I haven't had anyone to play with in so long."  
  
It captures Uryuu's wrist and shoves him back down, pulling its counterpart up to bind both of his arms together behind his back. He tries to fight back but this monster's strength is absurd. Vitriolic reiatsu leaks through Kurosaki's skin and leaves a tingling afterimage wherever it touches Uryuu, like chilled flesh under hot water.  
  
It rolls Uryuu over and straddles him to complete the reversal of their previous positions.  
  
"What are you?"  
  
"Is that really what ya wanna ask right now, kid?" it scoffs with a wide smirk. "Maybe you should be askin' what I'm gonna do to ya."  
  
"You feel like a Hollow," Uryuu grits as his tenacious erection pays rapt attention to the pressure of Kurosaki's ass settling near it. "How is that possible?"  
  
"What ya don' know 'bout us could fill a library." Losing interest in conversation, he looks Uryuu over before darting a hand out to rip his shirt in half. Uryuu can't smother a groan as a rough hand drags down his front all the way to his crotch. "Ohhh, already rarin' to go, huh? I bet Ichigo doesn't even know what to do with somethin' like this. But I do."  
  
"I didn't come here for you, Hollow. Get your hands off me!"  
  
"Is that any way to talk to yer lover?" he croons, yanking open Ishida's belt and pants before he can get another word out. The Hollow laughs high and sinister. "And I was gonna be real gentle with ya, too."  
  
Taking a breath to retort to that blatant lie, it gets trapped in Uryuu's throat when the Hollow clamps a hand around it. The other one curls around Uryuu's cock. Both hands squeeze. Pleasure and panic are injected into his bloodstream so powerfully that it takes a few seconds for Uryuu to react. All he can do is wriggle ineffectively and struggle to breathe in spite of those two firm grips.  
  
The Hollow leans down to suck on a nipple, starting to stroke a harsh pace that has Uryuu bucking into it on instinct. Something inside of him is screaming in delight, loving every second of this attention even though it comes with the threat of injury and death. Even though he keeps trying to fight back and pull free, part of Uryuu wants to stay put and ride it out. Judging by the building ache in his balls, he probably won't have a choice either way.  
  
Just as his vision begins to darken and blur, the hand restricting his air flow is loosened long enough to take a single quick breath and nothing more. Fire burns in his veins, the pleasure spiking tenfold with that little sip of oxygen. Soon endorphins rush in to sweep away any remnants of pain and most of his willpower with it. The Hollow's mouth closes over an earlobe and bites down.  
  
Whereas Ishida started out intending to demand his freedom, now all he wants to gasp out is a request for release. Because Uryuu has a roiling beast within himself, too. The same monster that tugged him towards Kurosaki and forced him to kiss the boy on the roof in the first place. It has only grown since he stepped foot into this house. Now it rampages in Uryuu's mind, decimating his concentration and all sense of propriety.  
  
He knows he should be outraged. Terrified. _Mortified_. But when the Hollow finally releases his neck and buries those fingers into his hair to pull his head aside and drag blunt teeth over the new bruises, Uryuu arches his spine and moans out a fresh gasp. The arm still working between his legs slows. A wide thumb brushes over the slit and stimulates another fat drop of viscous fluid. Uryuu is so close he can feel a simmering wave rising up to wash him under. He braces for the break.  
  
Then the Hollow stops stroking altogether and dives down to roll his tongue into Uryuu's gaping mouth. He responds to it as best he can despite a fierce jolt of disappointment. This kiss is sloppy and chaotic, wholly devoid of finesse and affection. It leaves Uryuu more frustrated the longer it continues; he almost misses the annoyed groan he utters into it.  
  
His tormentor pulls away to laugh at him.  
  
"Apparently ya didn' want gentle anyway."  
  
"Shut up and finish what you started," he rasps from a sore throat, "Bastard!"  
  
"Why should you get to have all the fun?" The gleam in those narrowed, flickering-flame eyes flashes malicious and Uryuu swallows. "It's my turn."  
  
"Wait," he says, doing his best to hide an unsettling surge of trepidation. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"Now if I was Ichigo, where would I keep it..."  
  
The Hollow reaches a long arm over to the bedside table and opens a drawer to scrabble around for something. Uryuu tries to jostle his legs from under those strong thighs but he still can't manage it.  
  
"Enough already: let me go!"  
  
"Ah! Here it is."  
  
Leering like the villain Uryuu suspects he truly is, the Hollow shows him a little plastic bottle with clear contents oozing slowly down from one side. It sparks a revelation and suddenly Uryuu is a lot more suspicious of Urahara's twice-damned experiment. But he doesn't have long to consider that as he realizes what this substance is for.  
  
"No, you can't do that—I won't let you!"  
  
"How're ya gonna stop me? I've got ya all tied up."  
  
"I don't want this," he yells, equal parts angry and afraid. "Not with you. Kurosaki, come back, you coward!"  
  
"Ichigo isn't home right now...Feel free to leave a message."  
  
"Kurosaki!"  
  
Shifting off Uryuu at last, the Hollow tugs off his pants and underwear. He keeps one leg trapped and pushes the other up out of his way. Uryuu tries to kick him off but one of the unbroken ties from before is promptly knotted around the fold of his shin and thigh, rendering his attacks useless. He hears the bottle creak open.  
  
"Don't worry," he soothes as he sidles closer and gives Uryuu a patronizing wink, "If you behave, I might even let you come."  
  
A desperate whimper almost slips out. In spite of himself, Uryuu is more turned-on than he ever thought possible, burning for release even if it's at the hands of Kurosaki's Hollow. But not even a potent serum can make him forget what he really wants: Kurosaki the stupid Shinigami and not his feral counterpart. So he does the last thing he hopes will work. Something he would never stoop to doing otherwise.  
  
"Please, Kurosaki," he locks onto the Hollow's glowing eyes to beg. The words twist a scowl onto the Hollow's formerly smug face. "Please come back. Don't let this thing use you like this. Use _us_ like this!"  
  
"Shut up, you—"  
  
" _Please_ , Kurosaki!"  
  
Growling, the Hollow snarls at him like an enraged wolf. He raises a fist and Uryuu closes his eyes to brace against the blow he expects. It never lands. Stilted breaths are the only sounds in the small room for several tense seconds. Uryuu looks up to see Kurosaki shuddering and shaking his head. He blinks confused brown eyes open and gasps at what he sees.  
  
"Ishida, what—?"  
  
"Thank the gods," Uryuu sighs and lets his entire body relax. "Your Hollow almost raped me, you shameless bastard!"  
  
"My...what the hell did you do, Ishida?"  
  
Just like that, he tenses back up. "What did I do? Were you not listening, Kurosaki? Do you not see the position we're in right now?"  
  
Kurosaki's gaze skates over his body then, mouth falling open and brows rising in something like realization. Knowing what this must look like from his perspective, Uryuu turns his head away with a blush. It was never his plan to end up on this side of the field, but now that he is he almost feels guilty for doing this to Kurosaki earlier. Almost.  
  
  
**VII**  
  
There is something extremely wrong with Ichigo's life if this is the sort of thing that can happen to him without warning. One minute he has Ishida sneaking into his bedroom, trying him up, and touching him in weird places while saying weird things with this weird look on his face. Next minute Ichigo is somehow leaning over him with lube in his hand and a hard-on in his pants.  
  
"This is so fucked-up," he mumbles mostly to himself.  
  
"You think? Untie me, Kurosaki."  
  
Feeling more than a little lost, Ichigo follows the curt order and frees Ishida's leg. But before he can move on to his wrists he is side-tracked by the swollen dick practically screaming at him to notice it. Ishida sees him looking and glares.  
  
"You're still hard."  
  
"I said unt—"  
  
"You said he was going to rape you," Ichigo talks over him because this seems important. "But you're still hard."  
  
Ishida doesn't attempt a lie or some dumb explanation. Neither does he turn away in shame or embarrassment. The longer they stare at each other, the clearer Ichigo can see it. His black hair is tousled beyond any semblance of neatness. Faint bruises dot Ishida's long neck. Light scratches form stark pink lines on the pale skin of his chest. The working bellows of his slim stomach denotes short, rapid breaths. And the persistent jut of his erection drips small beads under his belly button.  
  
He jerks his eyes back up to Ishida's and scrunches his brow even deeper. Things begin to fall into place in his mind. Too many things at once and Ichigo can't keep track of them all. Taking a steadying breath, he focuses on one thing in particular and keeps eye contact as he reaches for Ishida.  
  
"What are y—Ah! _Fuck_! Kurosaki..."  
  
Ichigo watches closely. The way Ishida's eyes roll back as his hips arch up. The reddened circle of his lips parting on a startled moan. He listens to the pleading, ascending timbre of it and works his hand faster over Ishida. Legs pull up to bracket Ichigo's hips and he can tell it's subconscious. Ishida is too lost in the imminent implosion to do anything but writhe and groan and pant for him.  
  
It doesn't take long. It's obvious that Ishida is too wound up to retain any sort of stamina. Ichigo leans in close as Ishida starts to come, hips thrusting sporadically. He shouts a jumbled curse, then a low keening moan, and starts shaking all over. If all of that isn't enough, the intense expression on Ishida's face undeniably sets Ichigo's heart racing. Glancing down at the diminishing erection in his palm, he marvels at the copious streaks painting Ishida's chest and stomach.  
  
"You really wanted it, huh?" Several seconds pass before Ishida cracks open his eyes to glare but he is still too breathless to reply. "Is that why you did all of this? Pretending to be on patrol last night, messing with my head at school, and breaking into my room tonight. Belittling me until you triggered my Hollow. Did you plan everything just so I'd fuck you?"  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
"Liar."  
  
Choosing not to validate that with further comment, Ishida wordlessly rotates to present his binds for untying. Ichigo complies with an irritated scowl. He sits back to watch Ishida rub at his wrists before pulling his tattered shirt off to wipe at the mess on his front, even combing fingers through his frazzled hair to straighten it. His hands are still trembling.  
  
The way he does everything with such composure pisses Ichigo off. The fact that he looks kind of sexy while doing it does, too. And as soon as he decides it's Ishida's fault he's aroused right now, Ichigo loses whatever uncertainty he had. There's no way this kind of clever, meticulous person would just happen to act on his instincts and attack Ichigo like this. Ishida manipulated him, _seduced_ him to get what he wanted whether Ichigo wanted to give it or not.  
  
He is not about to let that slide by unpunished. Ichigo is many things, but 'gullible martyr' is not one of them. If Ishida wants to play this game, he can play, too. So, when Ishida goes to step off the bed and presumably back into his remaining clothes to leave, Ichigo stops him with a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Let go of me, Kurosaki," he demands with a sharp look.  
  
"Why should I? You got what you wanted but what did I get?"  
  
"Your life, in spite of your Hollow's actions."  
  
"Not good enough."  
  
Ichigo wrestles him back to the mattress, pinning his arms beside his head. But he doesn't want to tie him up; they're past that now. Ishida snarls something into the kiss Ichigo forces, though he returns it. Ichigo pours all of his lust into it. Ishida responds by sucking on his tongue when Ichigo pushes it inside. The fingernails he sinks into thin forearms are mirrored by Ishida's teeth sinking into his lower lip. A purposeful thrust against Ishida's hip results in him bucking up into it.  
  
The message is clear: whatever Ichigo gives, he will get in kind.  
  
"You really think," Ishida huffs darkly when Ichigo briefly pulls back for air, "That I'd be dumb enough to get myself caught like this if I was in my right mind?"  
  
"What're you saying? You really are drunk?"  
  
"Something like that, yes."  
  
"Give me a fucking break," he mutters with rolling eyes.  
  
Ichigo avoids the light bruises along Ishida's neck in favor of nibbling at his wide collar bone. Finally letting go of Ishida's arms, he reaches down to part his legs and rest their hips together. He immediately uses this new freedom to tug Ichigo's hair, pulling his mouth away so he'll look at Ishida.  
  
"Urahara-san duped me."  
  
"Riiight," he nods patronizingly, knocking Ishida's hand aside so he can dip down to lick into his shallow belly button. He tastes Ishida there, musky and vital. That gets a muted groan and a lapse in Ishida’s concentration. "Urahara would totally trick you into stalking and harassing me just for the hell of it. As if! Just admit you're a scheming deviant, Ishida."  
  
"I'm not—Gah!"  
  
He flips Ishida like a pancake, ignoring his reproachful mutterings, and pulls up his hips to expose his ass. The lube he once got from Keigo as a gag gift rests near his left knee. Snatching it up, Ichigo hurriedly squeezes some onto his palm before Ishida can push himself up.  
  
"This is payback," Ichigo calmly declares, "For your devious scheming."  
  
"Kurosaki…"  
  
Surely more lies and complaints are forthcoming, but whatever Ishida was going to say is forgotten when a slick finger nudges against him. Ichigo listens curiously to the various sounds Ishida makes as he slowly pushes inside. Sheets bunched in his fists, Ishida presses his forehead to the fabric and struggles for each breath as his recently-relieved erection begins to revive.  
  
It's strange. So very strange, but no more so than this entire situation is to begin with. Ichigo only knows what to do because he has had too many dirty-minded friends and too much time to spend on the internet. He's thankful for them now because without that knowledge Ichigo wouldn't be confident enough to do any of this. Wouldn't be leaning over Ishida and extracting the most intriguing noises, the most fascinating twitches of his lanky body. Wouldn't be preparing Ishida in order to do something he has heard is memorably fun, to say the least.

“Have you done this before?” Ichigo asks, making idle conversation.

“Are you _simple_? Of course I haven’t done th—” Finally deep enough to reach it with two fingers inside, he grazes Ishida’s prostate and smirks as the boy cuts himself off on a startled moan. “Oh, my—how do you even know about that? Fucking hell, just get on with it, will you?”

“Even like this you never shut up.”

“Well, who asked you to do it in the first place?”

“You wanted me to just shove it in? That’s a little masochistic, don’t you think?”

“I wanted you to let me leave,” he snarls and twists at the hips to reach up and shove Ichigo onto his back. Ishida quickly climbs over him and glares with all the flushed fury of a pissed-off cat in heat. “But since you insist on tormenting me, you could at least hurry the fuck up!”

Ichigo licks his lips and stares, raising his hands in surrender. “Then go ahead: do it.”

With a frustrated growl, Ishida swiftly snaps the string of his pajamas in two and yanks them down. Ichigo watches his face soften and melt into something made of pure want as he sees what those pants were blocking. Then the unthinkable happens and Ishida is bending over to suck him into wet heat on a low moan. The unexpected rush of pleasure has Ichigo biting his lip with closed eyes and clenched fists. Asking him to stop from a handful of seconds, Ichigo tugs gently at his hair to emphasize his request. Ishida pulls away after a few more languid licks and gives him a knowing look.

“I thought you weren’t interested. Yet, here you are, ready to blow.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” he argues as he regains his breath. “I said I didn’t understand. You can’t just spring this shit on someone, Ishida. Give some kind of warning before you force yourself on them!”

“Forgive me if I’m acting out-of-character, Kurosaki,” Ishida fires back, sliding into position and taking a lubed hold of Ichigo’s cock to align with his ass. “I told you I was coerced.”

“Coerced into flirting with me at school? Kissing me like you’ve been thinking about it for years? Tying me up so you could— _Oh,_ _shit_!”

Losing all of his words, Ichigo’s hands fly to Ishida’s hips as he settles them slowly downward. Their breathing instantly goes ragged. Ishida makes it all the way to the end, muttering his name among choice curse words, and it takes everything Ichigo has to reign it all in. Sweat dots along his temples and down his neck, tickling where it shifts over Ichigo’s skin. He keeps still because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Ishida resolutely shuts his gaping mouth and moves. Starting with subtler motions, he quickly becomes comfortable enough to roll his hips in a smooth arc, hands braced on Ichigo’s tensed stomach. His slatted eyes sweep over Ichigo’s face as if confirming his participation. Though he looks away before their gazes can meet.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” Ishida practically sighs, leaning his head back as his whole body begins to rock. “I don’t care if you think I did it all on purpose. None of it matters anyway.”

“‘The hell is that supposed to mean?” Ichigo manages to slur back despite his intense concentration. If he hadn’t been focusing so strongly, he would have come as soon as Ishida sank onto him, so tight and soft. Even though he doesn’t really understand why, Ichigo is not ready for this to be over just yet.

“It means that after tonight we won’t be associating with each other, so—”

Inexplicably upset about that, Ichigo yanks Ishida closer by the arm to force eye contact. “You saying you’re gonna go back to avoiding me? Don’t fuck with me, Ishida.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

They both make sounds of discomfort as Ichigo pushes him off and disconnects them. Only so he can straddle Ishida and shove roughly back inside, wringing groans from each of them. Repositioning Ishida’s legs for him, Ichigo bends his knees and leans in close, so close that they are forced to share air. He kisses Ishida to stem the imminent flow of griping. Then they get carried away with it, thrusting against each other with hips and tongues. Ishida’s fingernails bite at his shoulders and Ichigo snaps that much harder into him.

Breaking away on a loud moan, Ishida’s expression darkens with the pinch of desperation as he reaches a hand between them to grip himself. He gasps when Ichigo slaps it away.

“You did this, Ishida. You caused all of this,” he murmurs and matches Ishida’s half-lidded glare. “This is your punishment, remember? That means you don’t get what you want when you want it.”

He starts to rebel, pushing at Ichigo’s shoulders and making another try to finish himself off with a few quick strokes. But Ichigo is faster. Between one harried breath and the next, Ishida’s wrists are pinned hard to the bed on his right by one of Ichigo’s hands while the other throws an ankle over his shoulder to bring a thigh to rest against Ichigo’s front, rotating Ishida’s body to the side. The sharp twist in the angle of their hips has them both gasping. As soon as he is able, Ichigo resumes his previous pace.

“ _Kurosaki_ ,” he whines, although it’s probably meant to be a snarl. “Bastard!”

Watching the way Ishida’s brows furrow even deeper as he bites into a corner of the pillow almost ruins him. He realizes belatedly—through the oddly rhythmic meter of Ishida’s strained moans—that he is hitting Ishida’s prostate on almost every single thrust. That would explain why he is quivering all over as though deathly cold. That would also explain why his heavy hard-on is steadily leaking clear fluid onto the sheets in a spreading spot.

Ichigo comes with a hoarse shout and a stuttering set of arrhythmic thrusts. This time Ishida really does whine, struggling against Ichigo’s slackened hold. He lets him go and eases out but remains braced above him.

“Don’t, Ishida,” he orders between long breaths. “Don’t touch yourself.”

Miraculously, Ishida obeys. He turns fierce blue eyes up at him and scowls, but he keeps his hands off.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he snidely repeats.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll do it for you. But you’re going to have to be patient.”

“‘Patient’? Kurosaki, this goes past patience and into cruelty, you stupid— _Unnh_!”

Taking gentle hold of him with a light stroke, Ichigo shuts him up long enough to get a word in.

“You can’t come without being touched here, can you?” It’s a rhetorical question because even Ichigo isn’t too dense to figure it out after everything he’s put Ishida through. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the head and a smothered whimper is the only answer. “I don’t really get why you couldn’t do this the normal way. Written me a letter or confessed in person with that blunt phrasing you love so much. Even if you only wanted sex you could’ve just told me. You know I’m not the petty kind of person to hate people over shit like that. Instead, you planned this elaborate sequence of actions that ended up backfiring anyway.”

“I didn’t plan anything!” It comes out choked and halting as Ichigo slips two fingers on his free hand in to tease Ishida more. “U-Urahara-san…he…”

“Even if it was his fault—even if he did some weird Shinigami voodoo or whatever—you’re saying you were powerless to resist? That you didn’t want to fuck me? It never crossed your mind until today?”

“No, I—”

“Truth, Ishida,” he demands with a move that makes Ishida’s back arch against his will. “Or I’ll keep you like this until the sun comes up.”

“God damn it, Kurosaki! _Yes_ , okay!? Yes, I’ve thought about it before. But I was never going to act on it!”

Breathing hard with the effort of simultaneously maintaining anger and arousal, Ishida closes his eyes and begs with his expression. Ichigo knows he’ll never plead aloud, and this was never about that from the beginning. So he scoots down to end Ishida’s punishment at long last. The salty tang of his release is not half as shocking as the wild sounds Ishida makes as his orgasm lasts for nearly a full minute. By the time Ishida relaxes in a boneless sprawl, Ichigo’s bedding has become a sloppy swirl hanging from three sides of his bed. He doesn’t even have the energy to glare when Ichigo drops to the bed beside him.

Minutes tick by and neither of them is willing to break this new silence. Ichigo is expecting him to get up any second and storm out, vowing never to speak to him again or some bullshit. But he keeps thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow when they see each other at school.

“Now we’re even,” Ichigo grumbles.

“In what sense?”

“In every damn sense!”

“I wish my outlook was as clear as yours, Kurosaki,” he snarks without heat. “My life would be so much simpler.”

“It won’t work, you know.”

“What’s that?”

Slowly sitting up, Ishida eyes him disdainfully until Ichigo pushes himself to lean against the wall.

“Ignoring me. I let you get away with it this week because I was dealing with some other shit, but it’s not going to work anymore.”

“As if I need your permission to ignore you. How slow are you?”

Revolving around their own little merry-go-round of insults and circular logic, Ichigo almost wants to smile. His life is so fucked-up and some things never change.

But other things do.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to the first part that was written by request.
> 
> Theme song: “Immortals” by Livesosa.

**0**

Blood.

Blood is everywhere. Staining Uryuu’s clothes crimson, matting in his hair, and splashing onto the cold concrete roof of some empty high-rise building. The sour, metallic smell of it is cloying in the muggy night air, but the rainstorm overhead is quick to drown it out. Pressing a hand to his weeping side, Uryuu bites back a scream of white-hot agony as his broken rib is jarred. He doesn’t have time to lament his physical state, not when his spirit is still being tracked by the one who did this to him.

Gathering the energy and concentration to use _hirenkyaku_ is impossible at this point; it was all he could do to make a nonlethal landing on the top of this building. Now Uryuu must rely on old-fashioned running to put distance between him and his attacker. He shoots a hasty arrow at the door leading down from the roof and stumbles into the stairwell. Four floors down, his sodden shoes slip. Uryuu rolls down half a flight of stairs before sprawling onto the landing. Out of breath and trembling with pain, he gasps where he lies at an awkward angle.

Dim moonlight sifting through a high window provides the only source of light in the eerie space. More vital than seeing, though, is sensing the reiatsu pursuing his own. He struggles to push himself up as he feels it drawing nearer every second. Bracing unsteadily against the grey wall is as far as he gets before the footsteps echo from above. Uryuu clenches his jaw against the onslaught of mortal dread and throws himself into motion.

He leaves a morbid trail of red drops and sticky handprints smeared across the railing all the way down.

The ground floor entrance is a wide sheet of plate glass. Uryuu shatters it in a blinding blue flash without a second thought. The clear chips shower down to hit black marble tiles in a dazzling cascade of explosive sound. Shards crunch and fracture under his rushed steps as he darts out into the street. The erratic stomp of soles is eclipsed by the shush of pounding rain, the draw of his laboring lungs, and the roar of his skittish pulse in his ears.

If only he can make it to Urahara...

He is close, only a few blocks away, but deep down Uryuu already knows he won’t make it. Since giving up is not in his nature, he rallies the will to continue. A quick glance behind reveals a racing shadow on his trail. Ignoring the trash can he knocks over in a sloppy turn, Uryuu darts down an alley and blinks water from his blurry eyes. The glasses he lost somewhere in the middle of town are no help clearing his vision now. If Kurosaki were here, maybe he would have seen the dead end ahead and warned Uryuu before he made such a costly mistake.

_Kurosaki_.

Confirming the looming obstacle of a high wall bisecting the long alleyway, Uryuu huffs a frustrated cry as he fires an arrow bent on blasting a hole straight through. The weakened gleam of it dims and fizzles out before it can so much as char a single brick. He used the last of his reserves back at the skyscraper. Undaunted, he takes a deep breath and summons atmospheric reishi to himself for another try. The pull of his bow is halted by a mocking laugh right behind him.

Uryuu doesn’t have time to turn fully before he is being flung against the stone. He hits it so hard that his outstretched arm snaps on impact. A short yell is all he allows past gritted teeth. The shaky inhale he steals instantly punches back out of him as his enemy takes brutal hold of the broken wrist. The bones grind in a sadistically tight grip that wins another agonized shout. Crumpling into the mud, Uryuu’s welling eyes finally snap upwards to meet those peering down.

Coal-smothered yellow glow with victorious glee.

“Caught ya!”

“Kurosa— _Guh_!”

The other hand strikes out to whip his head to the side before squeezing around his throat. Already low on blood and breath, Uryuu’s vision begins to dim within seconds. The fingers he instinctively curled over that strangling arm fall limply to the muck at his side. A sinister, broad slash of a smile fills his narrowing perception.

In this endless moment, Uryuu vaguely wonders if this is it. Will he really be snuffed-out by his lover, covered in his own blood with stinging tears of betrayal slipping down his cheeks? No, it isn’t the betrayal that hurts most. It’s not the pain of so many fresh wounds. Nor the knowledge that he could have protected himself if he had truly mustered the intent to stop Kurosaki when this fight first began. The reason he spends his last precious seconds sobbing under the noxious glare of this creature is because...

This is all Uryuu’s fault. And Kurosaki will never be able to forgive himself.

**I**

“What do you mean ‘it was a one-off’?” Ichigo snaps, scowling because he really wasn’t expecting it to be this complicated. Everything with Ishida is always so damn complicated.

“I should have known you would need supplementary elucidation,” Ishida sighs with a haughty demeanor that he knows pisses Ichigo off every time. “Don’t you remember last night when I said nothing has changed between us? That Urahara-san was responsible for my behavior and that it will _never_ happen again now that his ‘tonic’ has worn off.”

“I thought you were messing with me.”

Rolling his eyes in irritation, Ishida shakes his head and moves to walk past him.

The boy has spent the entire day—after they just had full-on _gay sex_ the night before—ignoring Ichigo, as promised, even going so far as to walk in the other direction when Ishida heard his name being called in the hall. Now, ambushing him on his way out of their last class, Ichigo uses the fact that Ishida hates to cause a scene to his advantage. The students making their way off school grounds are out of earshot of normal conversation, but they both know Ichigo could start yelling any minute.

He keeps looking for proof of what they did. The Hollow left plenty of marks on his own, not to mention a few Ichigo added himself. Even with his school uniform closed to the throat, Ishida should still be sporting all sorts of brash bruises and scratches. Nothing is visible. Those marks have been meticulously covered and that annoys Ichigo more than the cold shoulder.

He stops him with a grip that Ishida immediately shakes off with a furious glare.

“Never touch me again, Kurosaki. In fact, never speak to me again. Don’t even think of me if you can help it.” Opening his mouth to argue, Ichigo is silenced by an angry chopping motion. Ishida steps closer to hiss menacingly, “Shut up. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Have you forgotten what I told you when we got back from Soul Society? We are enemies. We will always be enemies. One night’s misguided actions won’t change that. Now get the hell out of my way.”

He shoves Ichigo against the lockers with a reverberant clang that draws every pair of eyes in the hall to them. Feeling some rage of his own surging up at this treatment, he straightens and raises his voice so each one of their curious classmates can hear.

“How do you expect me to just forget about you after I made you come?”

A stunned hush falls over the crowd. Ishida halts so suddenly his hair jerks forward with the momentum. A few tense seconds pass before he slowly turns, muscles quivering with wrath. He visibly reigns it all in and projects a disaffected air, tapping his glasses into place as he sardonically replies.

“Made me come to your dance recital, Kurosaki? Yes, that was quite an experience, wasn’t it? I had no idea you were so interested in fine arts.”

A few nervous chuckles scattered about the vicinity relieve some of the tension and motions resume. This time when Ichigo starts to respond, Ishida is already there. He closes the distance with militant strides and drags Ichigo into a vacant classroom, slamming the door behind them. After banging into a desk he is flung against, Ichigo rounds on him with fiery jibes.

“Yeah, that was a good comeback, Ishida, but you know I actually meant when you were in my bed, naked and so breathless all you could do was gasp my name.” Approaching the glowering boy with a confidence born of familiarity, Ichigo gets right in his face. He watches Ishida’s cheeks heat as he leans almost close enough to touch noses. “Have you ever been that turned-on in your life? Have you ever come that hard? Because I haven’t. I keep thinking about you, Ishida. I can’t stop myself and it’s your fault. The way I see it, you should take responsibility.”

Ishida punches him in the jaw. Reeling back from the suddenness of it more than the pain, he narrows his eyes at the boy in disbelief. That’s when he notices his words have made a greater impact on Ishida than the punch he just received. Flinty-eyed and breathing hard, both hands are still balled into fists at his sides. He is simmering from the fire Ichigo started, well on his way to a boil.

“You have some nerve, Kurosaki. I should kill you where you stand.”

“Then why don’t you?” The boy’s silence eggs him on. “Oh, that’s right. Because you threw your powers away trying to take down a fucking _captain_.”

As the last word is spoken Ishida bares his teeth and attacks. Ichigo is ready for him this time. They grapple and shove, sending furniture scraping in all directions. A tipped shelf dumps books onto the floor. A kicked trash can spews crumpled paper and tissues across the tiles. The teacher’s wide desk groans under the force of Ishida slamming him on top of it, flinging pens, post-its, and folders over the edges.

Ichigo locks his legs around the boy’s waist for leverage and grabs the first object his hands touch. It’s a little plastic globe and it makes contact with Ishida’s head with a hollow _pak_. Rather than deterring him, the blow sparks a snarl and Ishida slams him by the shoulders. Ichigo groans in discomfort as a marker digs into his spine. Then he dodges a textbook meant to brain him.

“Hold still so I can murder you,” Ishida grits through his teeth. Now he is using a wooden meterstick to press against Ichigo’s neck, startling them both when it snaps in half. “Fuck!”

He uses the split-second of an opening to throw Ishida off. Rebounding off the chalkboard, he grunts on impact and growls when Ichigo traps him against it. Aiming a knee at his crotch, Ishida curses again as he misses. Ichigo lets go of his arms in a flash of insight and reaches down to ensnare his legs instead. Threatened with banging his head on a backward fall, Ishida shouts and grabs his shoulders for stability.

The fight is put on pause while they marvel at this new situation. Even Ichigo is surprised the maneuver actually worked. More importantly, Ishida is still staring at him as if waiting for a sign. Stop? Go? Proceed with caution? The hot rush of his respiration through parted lips is sending mixed messages to Ichigo’s subconscious. Ishida catches him watching his mouth and struggles against him in rebellion, so he pins the boy to the wall by his hips. Twin gasps resound.

“You still want me,” Ichigo murmurs into his ear. “And I want you, too.”

“Let me go, Kurosaki.”

After a moment’s consideration, he does. Ichigo lowers his legs and helps steady the boy before backing off a bit. He eyes Ishida warily, alert for an abrupt counterattack. Fixing skewed glasses, flattening rumpled clothing, and combing through mussed hair, he gazes just as cautiously at Ichigo. Seconds tick by but neither one moves. Then Ishida slams into him and Ichigo automatically lifts his arms to protect himself.

The warm, soft lips land on him like another blow and Ichigo gasps at the unexpected sensation. Ishida doesn’t hesitate to fill the gap with an ardent tongue. That’s all it takes for Ichigo’s guard to come crashing down. He moans and curls a hand around the back of Ishida’s long neck to bring him closer. They kiss like it is a battle, each vying for the upper hand, brimming with impulse and wild enthusiasm.

Ishida pulls away with a loud smack to push him roughly against the desk so he must lean against his elbows. Hooking arms under Ichigo’s knees, he effectively takes control before reconnecting their mouths. Ichigo allows this because he can reach down to yank Ishida forward by his ass and connect their bodies. This time he gets to taste Ishida’s low moan.

Again, he locks his legs around Ishida’s waist, this time to feel the swelling length of him against his own. Ishida tears his slicked lips away and glares down at him with furrowed brow. His eyes close on the first firm snap of his hips. He bites and sucks at the taut skin of Ichigo’s arching neck, bruising all sorts of marks on his way down. Ichigo tugs at his hair in retaliation even as he matches Ishida’s insistent rhythm.

Blunt nails scrape at his sides through his shirts and Ichigo wishes they would shred through fabric to expose skin. He wants to touch Ishida everywhere all at once. Wants to taste him, to devour him whole. He wants to let Ishida rip him apart. When the urges grow too large, Ichigo breaks.

“Touch me, Ishida,” he murmurs around heavy groans. “Just fucking _touch me_ already.”

The boy’s pace stutters as air hisses out of him. His hands pop open both of their slacks in record time and he drags Ichigo’s hand south in invitation. Those long, talented fingers close around Ichigo’s cock and squeeze. His head hits the desk in relief. But Ishida is quick to remind him that this isn’t a free ride: he has to work for his pleasure, too. So Ichigo leans up to grab the boy’s jaw with one hand and his erection with the other. He pulls Ishida into a sloppy, biting kiss and fights to hold his hips still in spite of the pleasure.

Wound up as they are, the moment can’t last. Ishida’s free hand clenches into the front of Ichigo’s shirt as his body starts to tense. The kiss is canceled in favor of breathing, but now Ichigo gets a close-up view of Ishida losing it right in front of him. Even with the late-afternoon sun slanting over them in a golden spotlight, his eyes are black with lust and trained on Ichigo. The yearning crease of his eyebrows deepens before smoothing out on a wavering cry.

He catches Ishida as he falls forward. The wet kisses he lazily mouths over Ichigo’s collar bone seem so out of place in the wake of previous ferocity. Confusion doubles as the kisses continue down his chest. Then Ishida sinks to his knees and swallows him down. He barely has time to grip around the desk for dear life as he comes into that expert suction. Staggered by the power of it, Ichigo blinks up at the ceiling in astonishment. Slowly, Ishida rises into view as he stands, licking the corner of his mouth.

Ichigo groans at the sight.

Snatching a fistful of untucked shirt, he reels Ishida in for a final messy kiss until the boy pulls away. He looks Ichigo over thoughtfully as he revises his uniform. Ichigo still doesn’t have the energy to bother with his. All he can do is ogle Ishida with bemused eyes and a rekindling desire to reach for him. Though the cold prophecy he delivers before leaving Ichigo alone in the empty school freezes him in place.

“We are going to regret this.”

**II**

Uryuu stands under the wide spray of his shower well after the water runs cold. The soft barrage of icy drops sluices unnoticed down his back as he stares between the brand new scar on his chest and the matching charm at his wrist. He keeps calling power to the silver star resting on his palm just to see its reassuring glow. Reiatsu swirls excitedly within him, rejoicing like a long-lost friend. The energy feels purer, stronger than before.

Oh, how he had missed this.

He thinks of the hours he spent agonizing over this choice the night his father found him— _saved_ him from that pair of voracious Hollow—because the price seemed too steep at first. As soon as the words left Ryuuken’s mouth, Uryuu knew what it would mean if he said yes. No more tag-alongs to the Kurosaki home for somber meetings. No more late-night Hollow-hunting teams. No more knowing looks exchanged in the middle of class at the otherworldly roar of an intruder.

No more kissing Kurosaki.

Considering he had already resolved never to do that again, despite the episode in the classroom last week, the decision should have been simple. Yet, he can’t deny struggling with some turmoil. To say they left a few things unfinished between them would be an understatement. It is undeniably Uryuu’s fault for declaring them enemies right before vigorously jumping Kurosaki in a public place.

Maybe it was Kurosaki’s fault for getting him so riled up he couldn’t think straight anymore. Reminding Uryuu of how intense it was to be with him like that. The lewd things the boy said still haunt him. It is almost like Kurosaki already knows what to say, knows exactly how to touch him to make him lose control.

Uryuu’s next breath hisses out of him as cold water runs over a certain awakening part of his body. He twists off the flow with a vicious snap of his wrist and steps out of the tub. Scrubbing the towel roughly over his skin, Uryuu frowns at himself for falling back into this line of thinking. Why can’t he just leave it alone? Why is it so hard to forget about Kurosaki?

“Ishida.”

Probably because he won’t leave Uryuu alone, either. He quickly pulls on his pajamas before ripping open his bathroom door and spotting the Shinigami perched on his windowsill. The usual flicker of anger and attraction swiftly heats his cooled skin.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment, Kurosaki?”

“Okay, before you freak out,” he prompts with palms and eyebrows raised, “You haven’t been to school in days and you won’t answer your phone. How else can I talk to you?”

“You don’t need to talk to me. Get out!”

Kurosaki stands as Uryuu approaches with clear intent to shove him through the open window. The thick fabric of his shihakusho flutters in a heavy breeze. It carries the boy’s scent to Uryuu and tousles his damp hair. He ignores all of it in favor of carrying out his original plan, but something devastating stops him right before he collides with Kurosaki.

His reiatsu. Uryuu can feel his reiatsu so clearly it almost stings. Tracing all around him through the air, teasing at his flesh and seeping inside. It is as though he had only seen the sun from underwater and now Uryuu has finally breached the surface at last. The radiant warmth of it shines into his very soul. He has never felt anything so dangerously invigorating.

“Ishida?” he anxiously questions at his abrupt silence. “What—Ishida!”

He falls. Collapsing into Kurosaki’s arms and floundering in a startling wash of that reiatsu. Why is it having such a strong effect on him? Uryuu has obviously sensed it before and it doesn’t seem too different from what he remembered. Best guess is the answer lies with his own reinstated powers. Something about having them back has enhanced his senses?

In that case, why didn’t the same thing happen when Urahara visited him in the training room of the hospital?

“‘M fine,” mumbles Uryuu against the boy’s chest. His heart is racing and his limbs feel weak, but he can tell he is already adjusting to the efflux. “I’m okay. You can let me go.”

“You sure?”

Nodding, he steps backward and plops onto the edge of his bed. Uryuu pushes clinging strands from his face and forces his breathing to even out. Kurosaki eyes him uncertainly but keeps his mouth shut.

“Why are you here, Kurosaki?”

“Before that, what the hell just happened? Since when does the sight of me make you faint? Should I call someone? I’ll carry you to the hospital.”

“Calm down,” he snaps with his usual glare. The harsh tone alleviates some of Kurosaki’s worry. “I just came from the hospital and I refuse to go back anytime soon.”

“Huh? Why were you—”

“It’s a long story. Never mind that. _Why are you here_ , Kurosaki?”

Pursing his lips on an irritated stare, Kurosaki reluctantly drops the topic. He knows precisely how stubborn Uryuu can be when he tries.

“You heard about Inoue? She’s missing.”

“Yes. And?”

“‘ _And’_?” Kurosaki scowls at that but doesn’t press the issue. “Well, I’m going to find her and bring her back. Obviously. I want you to come with me.”

“How did you know...?”

“What, about your powers? I felt it, Ishida.” He smiles at Uryuu’s dumbfounded expression. Number one at being oblivious and he actually noticed something? “Couldn’t miss it. I was in the middle of training to master my Hollow and almost got my head cut off because of it.”

“The training room was supposed to be shielded,” Uryuu mutters more to himself. “How could you possibly...?”

Kurosaki shrugs. Uryuu tenses up when the boy walks over to sit beside him on the narrow mattress, but he doesn’t try anything. Instead, the intensity of Kurosaki’s gaze keeps him from scooting further away on principle.

“So, whaddya say?”

“Pass.”

“P-” For a few seconds, he can’t even get through the first syllable. “ _Pass_? What the fuck do you mean ‘pass’? This is Inoue we’re talking about! You don’t get to say ‘pass’! What are you thinking?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Is this about what happened at school last week?”

“No.”

“Because I think rescuing Inoue is a little more important than—”

“Of course Inoue-san is more important,” he barks and pushes to a stand. Uryuu paces as his frustration reaches alarming proportions, flooding over the dam Kurosaki keeps mindlessly chipping away at. “ _Cheese_ is more important than that.”

“Cheese?”

“Shut up.”

Kurosaki sighs. “Okay, if it’s not about us then why won’t you go?”

“Are you truly so unused to rejection that you are unable to accept it? I’m telling you I can’t go with you. The reason doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” he cries while surging to his feet. Kurosaki stops his pacing by grabbing onto his shoulders. “It’s not like I’m asking you on a stupid date, Ishida. This is serious! Inoue could be hurt, or worse.”

Mentioning a date in this context seems too surreal. A dazzling kaleidoscope of images spins in his mind’s eye. Kurosaki laughing into a foamy latte as Uryuu makes a pun across from him in a cafe. Tentatively touching hands in a dark movie theatre. Spread out across Uryuu’s bed while studying together. Harmlessly quibbling about whose turn it is to pay for dinner. Unafraid to show open affection, sure of its reception.

Offering selfless support when cruel events like this disrupt their lives.

It’s not like they have talked about anything like that. Or anything at all. It hasn’t occurred to Uryuu to want more, something beyond erratic physical confrontations. Now, looking into Kurosaki’s eyes gone solemn with entreaty, he wonders. Is it even feasible for them? Wouldn’t they just kill each other? Would Kurosaki want to try?

It’s too late. Uryuu already made his choice and he is not one to break his word.

“I can’t help you, so go,” he says and jerks out of Kurosaki’s hold.

“Why do you keep saying you ‘can’t’? Is there something wrong with your powers? If anything, your reiatsu feels—”

“Can’t, won’t, either way you can count me out. I will find my own way to help Inoue-san.”

Even though Urahara stated that Kurosaki is going against Seireitei by rescuing her, thereby creating a kind of loophole due to lack of official Shinigami association, Uryuu still hasn’t decided whether or not he should go on his own and avoid Kurosaki altogether. The idea of leaving him to fight his way through unknown territory unaccompanied doesn’t sit well with Uryuu, but it might be the best option. Besides, he is fairly certain Kurosaki’s other friends won’t let him go alone.

Yet, he can’t explain all of that to Kurosaki in a way he will be able to acknowledge. At least not without admitting he technically agreed to forfeit all future contact with the boy to regain access to his lost abilities. Uryuu doesn’t know how well that bit of information would be taken under the circumstances.

“Ishida, why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?” he growls. His reiatsu lashes out with his emotions, snatching Uryuu’s breath away again. “Do you hate me that much?”

To Kurosaki, it’s a frivolous expression of aggravation, but to Uryuu it is an opportunity.

“Yes.” The burn of brown eyes into blue almost ruins his resolve. “Yes, I hate you that much and more.”

“Quit messing around,” he demands with an edge of hurt.

“I’m dead-serious, Kurosaki. I _despise_ you. How many times have I said it?” Rallying every last shred of anger he has ever had towards the boy, Uryuu explodes. “I hate how you can never take ‘no’ for an answer. The fact that anything I say to you gets warped into what you want to hear. How you think you have the right to touch me whenever you feel like it. That stupid look on your face right now. I loathe everything about you. You are the bane of my existence, Kurosaki! You are the reason I suffer.”

The tirade leaves him flushed and breathless. Kurosaki’s roiling reiatsu isn’t helping, either. He stares at Ishida like he just transformed into the Kraken before his eyes.

“Is that really how you feel?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Uryuu confirms before his question is even finished, “It is.”

They stand off for a long moment. When Kurosaki suddenly turns and walks away from him, Uryuu could swear he thinks he sees...

**III**

Two days later, Ichigo is still fuming.

He doesn’t understand why they have to fight every single time they see each other. Even when Ichigo is actively trying to be nice and keep his temper under wraps, Ishida finds a way to unravel it. Going to his apartment was a mistake: of course invading his personal space unannounced would put the boy on edge. Add that to the fact that he was there to ask a favor and you have a recipe for one pissed-off Quincy.

Still, he really wasn’t expecting that.

Not only did he refuse to help find Inoue, he shot verbal arrow after arrow until Ichigo’s chest felt riddled with them. They have had their share of ups and downs, but this is too much. The way Ishida had snarled and sneered at him like Ichigo was the gum sticking to his shoe clenches around his heart. It has since been all he can think about.

Now his inner Hollow is even using the confusion to get a foothold against him, hindering his progress.

“What’re ya doin’, kid?” Shinji yells from below, “Hiyori’s gonna knock your block off!”

“Eh?”

Ichigo looks up just in time to dodge a strike from the lethal blonde. Immune to his private plight, she swipes at his neck and narrowly misses carving into his windpipe. The Hollow’s high-pitched sniggering echoes in his mind. Ichigo draws on its power and cringes at the harsh drag of its resistance. Just as he thinks his mask is solidly in place and he lifts his sword to parry Hiyori’s blow, it bursts into ash.

She crashes against his unsupplemented bankai with apathetic abandon. Ichigo goes careening into the ground to shatter a pile of boulders. When he doesn’t pop right up as usual, she zips down to see why. Dust and pebbles coat his tattered, tapered jacket; Ichigo can’t be bothered to brush it off. Hiyori takes one look at his pathetic expression and rolls her eyes at him.

“Come back after you find your balls,” she snidely quips. “I can’t fight such a pitiful wimp without barfing all over the place.”

When her barbs fail to bait him, the rest of the Vizards exchange concerned glances. She passes Shinji on his way to stride over and stare down at Ichigo’s morose form. Sighing, he lends a hand to help the boy up. Ichigo offers nothing and Shinji keeps his silence for a solid minute.

“What’s eatin’ ya this time?” Ichigo shakes his head minutely and Shinji scowls. “Ya can’t expect ta master yer Hollow if yer mind’s distracted. Get outta here until ya can stay focused.”

“No, I can fight. I have to keep going!”

“Take a rest day. As y’are, yer useless. Open a doorway in the barrier, Hachi. Kensei, chuck ‘im out.”

“All right, all right,” he grumps as the burly man approaches him with intent. “I’m going. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Of course he spends the rest of the evening brooding.

Taking the long way home, Ichigo kicks cans and scowls at passersby like the delinquent he never really was. The weather mirrors his dark mood with a spreading wall of black clouds overhead. He pulls his hood over his head and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets as it starts to sprinkle, but otherwise ignores it. Left alone with only his thoughts, it doesn’t take much for them to steep inside him like bitter tea.

He thinks of that day Ishida saved his life after putting it in danger to begin with. How they bickered in Soul Society every single hour they were together, yet they never stopped watching each other’s backs. Ichigo remembers the relief he felt when he saw Ishida again, alive and mostly unhurt. Although he didn’t know then the boy had lost his powers in the melee.

Whether he wants to admit it or not, part of Ichigo still blames himself for that. He figures that might be why he felt the way he did when Ishida got them back. It was clear and piercing, like a ringing bell. Ichigo heard it resonate within himself as if it belonged there. Pausing on the sidewalk, he presses a hand to his chest at the memory. Rain patters harder and he tilts his head back to let it cool his face.

Then, as if answering his silent call, Ishida’s reiatsu spikes nearby, just as a Hollow signature vanishes.

The urge to seek him out is strong. Ichigo rushes into his house and straight up the stairs. His family is already fast asleep at this late hour. As soon as he shuts his door, he reaches for the badge that rips his soul from his body. The latter plops onto his bed with a soggy squish. Maybe he should have changed out of his wet clothes first, but he is too antsy to care. He even leaves his window open as he jumps through it in Shinigami form.

Ichigo is going to settle things with Ishida tonight if it kills them.

A few minutes of _shunpo_ get him within range. Ishida senses him long before he arrives in the middle of an empty park, but he doesn’t flee. He stands his ground and faces Ichigo as he lands with small splashes under his sandals. His white battle uniform is nostalgic. Ichigo steps closer as the boy releases his spirit weapon in a bright blue blaze. His fist closes protectively over the swaying charm at his wrist.

He expects Ishida to start making demands. Ask why he is bothering him after he made himself clear last time. Order him to leave and never come near him again. Tear into him about how much he can’t stand to be around Ichigo. Convince them both that this drama is a waste of time. But all he does is wait in quietude as the rain paints him grey.

The emotion swelling in Ichigo’s breast compels him to step closer. Closer, until he can see the water catching in Ishida’s eyelashes like clear sakura petals in outspread fingers. He searches the eyes they guard. Reads them for the abhorrence he pledges is there, but they are inscrutable as ever. Ichigo secretly wills him to stay just like this, a beautiful living statue that can never perish or turn away from him.

He lifts a hand to touch the alabaster curve of Ishida’s jaw, but the boy counters his intention as though anticipating it. Head turned away, his eyes finally leave Ichigo’s. This recession of scrutiny allows him the freedom to breathe deeper. Fire stirs in his belly and emboldens him to try again and take what he craves. Ishida’s lips are cold and stiff. He pushes Ichigo back with a dismayed grunt while his spirit flares in welcome.

“Tell me the truth for once, Ishida,” he begs with the tone of one forsaken. “Answer me honestly and I promise never to ask again: do you hate me?”

The vital question hangs foreboding in the humid air. Ishida shuts his eyes as if the words sting.

“You really can’t give up, can you?”

“No. I can’t. Not until I have your answer.”

A shadow of sentiment crosses Ishida’s face. He is quick to hide it, but Ichigo’s gaze is too sharp on him to miss it.

“What am I to you, Kurosaki? Do I mean this much or are you merely using me as a convenient escape from your troubles?”

“Of course not! Why would you even think that?”

“Because you waited to care until I forced you to fuck me!” he screams, shoving Ichigo back with all the rage in his heart. All pretense of poise discarded, Ishida lets his distress shine through to his features as he strikes out with wrathful words. “There is no genuine affection between us. Have you even once asked yourself where your fixation stems from? Is it purely physical? Then find another _toy_ to play with. That’s all you were to me, Kurosaki. And now I have outgrown you.”

Agony embeds in his core. He had no idea love could hurt this much.

**IV**

It happens faster than Uryuu can track. One instant he is spewing as many lies as his tongue can carry and the next...

Kurosaki’s reiatsu detonates in a voracious bankai that launches Uryuu across the park. He lands in a heap near a copse of trees and looks up in time to catch the blink of _shunpo_ carrying Kurosaki to his side. The black sword swings down. An instinctual _hirenkyaku_ prolongs his life a little.

He cries out a bold question and receives no answer. Uryuu already knows it. He has seen this before, though not quite as bloodthirsty. Kurosaki’s Hollow is a whirlwind of violence eagerly bearing down and it is all he can do to evade, much less counterattack. The panic of imminent death shocks through Uryuu as he realizes he cannot win. Winning would entail using the powers he attained _in spite of_ Kurosaki to heartlessly kill him. The notion of spilling Kurosaki’s blood is antithetical to his very nature.

Uryuu would rather die.

That doesn’t mean he is ready to let it happen. What will happen to Kurosaki once he awakens, splashed with Uryuu’s blood with a corpse at his feet? He keeps this thought in mind as he dodges and dashes, blocks and buffers. The ground quakes as a black _getsuga tenshou_ is charged and fired. It rips at the soft earth and carves out a fresh riverbed. A lightning strike illuminates the terrifying vision of Kurosaki’s feral side.

Uryuu runs. What else can he do? Battalions of blue arrows are sent to slow his pursuer. The Hollow easily slices them all aside and follows him towards towers of dark glass and stone. He catches Uryuu mid-air, skewering him like an angry hornet. The blade cuts shallowly into his side only because the creature loves to play with its prey. Uryuu’s shout of anguish curls a pleased smile into its borrowed face.

His sword slides out gently, taking a half liter of blood with it. Then he spins to kick hard against the wound and Uryuu hears the crack of bone before he feels it ignite in his side. His body jettisons through a high window and collects scratches from the resulting hail of broken glass. Coughing in the plume of disturbed dust is agony but he can’t stop.

Hasty skips through space put distance between them. The frisson of tainted reiatsu looms, and it kick-starts his heart like his worst nightmare. He begins to shoot blindly, frantically in the hopes of earning just one more second. Just one more second to breathe and rest and _think_. But the biting wave of energy comes sailing towards him in the storm’s gloom. It wings him, stealing his balance and sending him spiraling towards an unyielding roof.

As it begins to dawn on him that this might really be his final fight, Uryuu faces his darkest demons.

An eternity and an instant later, Kurosaki’s Hollow has him trapped in the alley. Uryuu’s broken arm and fragile throat in hand, it bares teeth in a primeval aggression. He feels his life slipping like so many drops of liquid coursing serenely over his skin, pulsing thickly out of his wounds, and leaking warmly from his eyes. His remaining thoughts distilling into a draining solution until only one remains.

The abused jumble of his vocal cords is numbing from the pressure of merciless fingers but he uses them anyway.

“‘M sry, Krs-aki,” he gurgles with the very last of his breath.

The Hollow’s eyes widen before narrowing in fury, “ _What_?”

Pressure recedes just enough for Uryuu to suck in a shallow breath.

“I’m sorry,” Uryuu repeats, urging his vision to focus so he can see Kurosaki’s face one more time. “I’m sorry, Kurosaki.”

“Shut up!”

He bangs Uryuu’s head against the wall but doesn’t tighten his grip again. Uryuu takes another wheezing breath and winces at the strain of it. This time he opens his watery eyes and locks onto Kurosaki’s on the first try. His words come halting and painful, but he forces them through.

“For your Hollow to...do this to me, I must have...hurt you so much. I’m so sorry.”

“I said shut up!” shrieks the Hollow with another half-hearted shove against the bricks. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“I f-forgive you,” Uryuu chokes, swallowing blood and tears. The garbled phrase stuns the Hollow, rigid and staring. “I forgive you.”

The monster howls and retracts his hands as if burned. Uryuu slumps against the wall and fights to stay conscious. It takes half a dozen seconds to muster the Sisyphean effort to lift his head, but when he does Kurosaki is looking back at him. Confusion gives way to horror, then sorrow. Those soft brown eyes fill and run over as Kurosaki drops to hands and knees.

“Ishida? My God, what have I done? What have I—”

“It’s okay, Kurosaki,” he automatically shushes him. “You’re back. You’re okay.”

A wave of dizziness threatens to sweep him away, but Uryuu rides it out. His unbroken arm reaches out and Kurosaki takes his offered hand. He nuzzles into the palm and murmurs tormented apologies, so many apologies. Uryuu pulls him closer until their foreheads meet and he can wrap his arm around Kurosaki’s shaking shoulders. The boy lifts a trembling hand to ghost over his injuries, giving a miserable groan at the sight.

“How could I do this to you?”

“You didn’t,” Uryuu claims with conviction. “It wasn’t you, Kurosaki. It was my fault, I should have told you—”

“How can you forgive me?” Kurosaki leans back to meet his eyes. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I should have told you that I love you.”

**V**

The hurriedly-spoken words bear the cadence of a dream to Ichigo. Ishida’s chin dipping to rest on his chest snaps him out of it.

“Ishida? Wake up,” he pleads, wanting to touch him but too afraid of doing more damage. There is so much blood and water that he can’t be sure where his injuries lie. He can’t tell if Ishida is even breathing. “No, no, no, no, please wake up! Ishida? Don’t do this to me...Ishida!”

A spiritual flicker alerts him to a new arrival. Ichigo turns to see Shinji approaching him. Witnessing Ichigo’s severely distraught expression, Shinji narrows his eyes in trepidation.

“We felt yer Hollow clear across town. What happened?”

“Ishida is...I-I did this,” stammers Ichigo past his heart swelling in his throat. “He’s not—I don’t think he’s breath—”

“Pick him up. We’ll take him to Hachi,” Shinji orders as he begins to understand the gravity of what he is seeing. “Calm down, kid, he’s still alive but not for long if ya don’t get it together.”

As far as he knows, Shinji hasn’t led him astray yet so he has no reason to argue. Besides, he has seen enough of Hachi’s abilities to know he would be better at healing than Urahara, especially since Inoue is gone. He looks at Ishida’s limp form and considers how best to do this. The texture of cold, sticky fabric has him snatching his hand back with a guilty grimace. Ichigo tries again, wedging one arm behind his shoulders and the other under his legs. Ishida’s limp head falls against his shoulder as he pushes upward. His limbs shiver as the reassuring tinge of Ishida’s reiatsu responds to the contact.

“Just hold on, Ishida.”

Maybe it’s his imagination, but Ichigo thinks he hears an answering groan.

They race together across the chaotic night sky, displacing still-falling rain and dodging lightning bolts. His only concern is making it to the Vizard’s lair in time. As soon as they get there, Shinji starts issuing commands and Hachi summons a golden cube around them before Ichigo finishes laying him on the mat Love rolls out in a corner of the dark warehouse. It’s just as well because he’s not about to leave Ishida’s side. He takes the boy’s tepid hand and gently squeezes.

“What happened?” whispers Rose. “Isn’t that the Quincy boy?”

“Drop it,” Shinji grunts. To Hachi, he asks, “What’s the verdict?”

The solemn man lifts wary eyes to Ichigo before replying. “He has lost quite a bit of blood and used up a lot of reiatsu, but his spirit is strong. I believe he has a chance.”

His blunt prognosis seems to echo in the cavernous space for minutes after it is spoken. Ichigo clenches his jaw as he sets his forehead to the back of Ishida’s hand. The Vizard’s intricate energies nourish and mix with Ishida’s depleted soul to encourage restoration. Ichigo can feel it fluctuating beneath the skin.

“This is going to take a while,” Lisa sighs, dropping her folded arms in resignation. “I’ll go buy snacks.”

“Green tea.” The unexpected rasp of Ichigo’s voice hushes the entire group. “Ishida likes those cans of sweetened green tea.”

“Sure,” agrees Love when no one else responds. “We’ll be sure to get some. Come on, Lisa.”

One by one, the Vizards find something else to do, lending him privacy. Even Hachi closes his eyes and lowers his head in concentration. The minutes begin to crawl by, slower with every second. Thirty. Sixty. Ninety. Ichigo remains rooted in place. He glances at Hachi at one point and sees a fine sweat rolling down the man’s temples. Inoue would probably have just as much trouble with this extent of damage. It is a testament to Ishida’s endurance that he was able to keep going in spite of it.

Nearly three hours later, Ishida stirs.

His eyes open, unfocused by clear, and Ichigo makes a mental note to replace the boy’s lost glasses. He would hate to deprive him of his favorite nervous tick: tapping them back into place. Ichigo’s heart starts hammering against his chest the instant those eyes land on him. Ishida takes a breath and coughs when it agitates his sore throat. Reaching for the waiting tea drink, Ichigo pops the tab and helps lift Ishida’s head to let him sip it. The soothing liquid seems to help.

“Kurosaki?” he finally whispers.

“Yeah, it’s me, Ishida. How do you feel?”

A weary wince is his answer. He moves to sit up but gasps when it pulls at his sealing abdominal laceration. Ishida gingerly prods fingertips over it and Ichigo cringes in sympathy. Sense-memory of stabbing into the boy has him turning his head away in shame. That’s when he notices the whole group has wandered back over to check in.

“Kurosaki,” tries Ishida as he sees the Vizards, too, “Who are these people? Where have you taken me?”

“They’re friends...sort of. We’re safe here. I’ll explain later if you want to hear the full story.” Addressing the curious spectators, Ichigo requests, “Do you guys mind giving us some space?”

They disperse with varying levels of irritation at the dismissal. Only Hachi dutifully stays put, keeping the barrier active since Ishida is not yet fully-healed. Ichigo suspects he is too immersed in the task, however, to discern much of what they’re saying. Ishida may be talking and moving around a little but he is far from back to full strength. In emphasis of this fact, he stops trying to sit upright and lies back with a controlled exhale.

“How long have I been out?” Ishida asks him with closed eyes and furrowed brow.

“Couple hours. We got you here pretty fast.”

“I didn’t think anyone but Inoue-san had this kind of ability.”

“It’s not the same,” Ichigo tells him with a glance at the barrier’s shimmering walls. “This isn’t time-reversal; you’ll still have scars.”

“Add them to the list.”

His nonchalant attitude is making Ichigo anxious. Why isn’t he talking about the fight? When is he going to say that it’s Ichigo’s fault? How will he cope with the consequences? He doesn’t think he could handle it if Ishida were to take back the confession he made right before he passed out. After a few minutes of loaded silence, Ichigo can’t bear it anymore.

“Ishida, I—”

“ _Now_ we are even.”

The words don’t make any sense. “Huh?”

“If you will be so kind as to recall as far as two weeks ago, I ‘attacked’ you first.”

Ichigo stares, mouth working soundlessly, until Ishida deigns to peer up at him. He doesn’t laugh at Ichigo’s ridiculous expression.

“That—What!? How could that even be in the same _galaxy_ as equal? Ishida, I almost _murdered you_!”

“If I choose to see the debt as paid, that is my prerogative and you have no say in that decision,” he sternly states with a shrewd gaze. “You are already forgiven, Kurosaki. Deal with it.”

Just like before, that phrase staggers him to his bones. He can’t understand how Ishida offers his salvation so freely. The worst part is Ichigo can tell he truly means it. Ishida won’t hold a grudge for any of it. Was he always this compassionate? All that feigned hatred when he was really feeling the opposite for Ichigo the whole time...

Now it makes sense.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll ‘deal with it’ as long as you accept the fact that you’re stuck with me.” Ishida’s eyes flare in alarm at the implication. “No more acting like you can’t stand me. No more avoiding me when I want to spend time with you. No more making up stupid excuses when I say I need you.”

“Kurosaki, you—”

Ichigo leans closer and smooths a hand over the side of Ishida’s face. The fear and yearning he sees there only add to Ichigo’s resolve.

“No more pretending, Ishida. That’s my counter-offer: take it or leave it.”

Waiting for some kind of definitive answer, Ichigo melts with relief when he catches it in the tiny nod Ishida finally gives. He rests his head lightly on Ishida’s chest and just breathes. Now more than ever he has a reason to beat his Hollow into compliance. And if the bastard ever touches Ishida again...

Feather-light fingertips at his jaw line drag Ichigo from his brooding. Ishida guides him down for a brief kiss, the simplest meeting of lips. But to them it is everything they can’t yet bring themselves to say.


End file.
